


An Ode (in prose) to Sherlock's Ass

by lucybun



Series: Ode Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucybun/pseuds/lucybun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet about John's thoughts on Sherlock's ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ode (in prose) to Sherlock's Ass

The simple fact was John loved Sherlock's ass. Oh, he loved the whole package, of course. The brilliant mind, the sharp tongue, the alabaster skin.... There was a lot to love about the man. But John thought he loved that ass the most because it was like a secret. Looking at the man, who would ever guess that he had such a delectably soft, perfectly lush, wonderfully delicious ass? No one, that's who. Only John knew.

So when they were alone, just the two of them between cases, lounging in their bed or on the sofa, John spent as much time as possible with his hands on Sherlock's bum. He'd pat it when he walked by, rub it while Sherlock lay reading as he watched telly, squeeze it and follow its rhythm with his hands when Sherlock was thrusting inside him.

But the best time was actually when John was thrusting inside Sherlock. He liked for Sherlock to lift on all fours in front of him so he could look and stroke and squeeze and feel. Smack it sometimes until it was red. And John would think, "I did that. That is mine." Then he would kiss and lick and nuzzle the soft fullness, and then he would spread those cheeks and do the same inside. He would slick his fingers and watch them disappear and try not to think about how good, how tight Sherlock would feel around his cock. Which never worked, because Sherlock did indeed feel very good and very tight around his cock. So John would slick said cock and watch as each centimeter of it slid inside that ass.

He would ease out, ease back in, just watching, stroking, soothing. And as the pleasure built, his thrusts would get stronger. His hips would slap up against Sherlock with a wonderful sound and an even more wonderful sight. Because the hard thrusts made that flesh move. Made it shake and ripple as John pounded inside. And after he was done, after he had filled that perfect hole with his come and Sherlock's had stained their sheets, he would stay inside as long as he could. And he would still thrust, though that wasn't really the word. No, he would rock. He would cradle Sherlock's ass in his hips and push. Never actually pull his skin from Sherlock's, just push against the fullness of his cheeks and let that fullness push him back ever so slightly until his cock was so soft he couldn't stay inside anymore.

Then Sherlock would fall forward, turn on his side. John would follow. He was too short to be the big spoon, so Sherlock would instead curl up around him. Wrap his long arm around John, rest his hand over his heart as it slowed from the staccato of sex to the soothing tempo of sleep. But before John fell asleep, Sherlock would take John's arm and pull it behind them, carefully place John's hand on the side of Sherlock's rear. And they would fall asleep and dream about waking up and doing it all over again.


End file.
